


The Wrong Winchester

by cherry3point14



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (fuck I used the wrong they're/their in one of those tags but I'm not retyping them all), BUT THEN DEAN COMES ALONG AND IS LIKE HI I'M DEAN, But their not, Dean Winchester is real hot, F/M, Fake Dating, Fluff, Fluff straight from the cloud, I'm going to type out my tags like the lyrics to the song 'we didn't start the fire', Just His Luck, SAM AND Y/N ARE FAKE DATING, SAM AND Y/N ARE FAKE DATINGG, Sam Winchester has a friend, THE CHORUS:, THEY DON'T FALL IN LOVE BUT MAYBE SOMEONE ELSE DOES, That's not a crime and he's a dolt, To his mom they pretend, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but th'es stuck, fake dating is real hot, he likes eileen, needs a date, that they're dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 22:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16228742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry3point14/pseuds/cherry3point14
Summary: You are one of Sam’s best friends and his co-worker at the legal firm where you both work. One day you waltz into his office for your usual lunch together to find that he is entertaining his mother. What begins as a little white lie to save Sam some embarrassment spirals into attending the Winchester fourth of July celebrations as his (fake) girlfriend. Celebrations where you meet his brother.





	The Wrong Winchester

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. FEAST UPON MY MANY MISTAKES.

You got out of court early after your client took a plea bargain. A result you heavily favored, not because you thought you couldn't win but rather because you _knew_ you couldn't win. The guy was guilty as sin and he was lucky he was getting a plea bargain at all. Well, not lucky. He's paying you enough that it's more than luck.

You'd only taken the guy on as a favor to a mutual friend anyway, even this guy's friend agreed he was done for, he literally just needed you to do the best you could to get him a plea that didn't get him the maximum jail time.

At this point, with the whole messy business settled, you're just relieved to be done early for the day. In fact, maybe getting out early will mean that the deli down the street from the office will have those seeded bagels left that you love. Usually when court overruns they sell out and you're left eating a pastrami on white like a chump.

Even with the potential for your favorite bagel you don't head straight there from the courthouse. You can't. That's not the way lunch works. No matter what you and Sam check in with each other before going to eat and today is no exception. Which is why you head to the third floor of your ogffice building rather than heading straight to bagel-y goodness.

You rap your knuckles on the dark wood of his office door waiting for his usual greeting. When you hear the familiar, "come in," you don't notice how it's a little more cautious in tone than normal. You're so used to hearing it at this point the words may as well have been screamed for how much you listened to the way he said them.

"Sam! My guy came to his senses thanks to yours truly, hold the applause, so I'm ready for an early lunch. Let's go, I could not be more starving."

It takes five steps into the room and you to finish talking before you to spot the blonde woman sitting down opposite him.

"Oh damn. I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you were with someone," you throw him a pointed look for giving you zip warning. "I'm sorry I'll come back later or..."

You were going to suggest he call you when he's ready. Or you'd happily go grab lunch and bring it back since you knew Sam's order as well as your own. But before you can offer any of those excellent suggestions the woman jumps up from her chair, smiling warmly at you, "it's absolutely fine. I'm not a client so don't worry about me."

Sam clears his throat awkwardly, "Y/N, this is my mom. Mom, this is my friend Y/N."

The woman, who you now notice has shades of Sam in her face and smile, thrusts a hand in your direction. Of course, you've heard about the famous Mary Winchester. You've even heard her voice a few times when his phone is on speaker and she calls to make sure he's 'still alive', this is just the first time you're putting a face to the name.

As you lock hands with her she talks to Sam on a feigned aside, her volume too loud to be a secret, "is the girl? The one you hung up on me to take a call from last week?"

You happen to know that you are not the girl. The girl is called Eileen and she's a librarian Sam helped in a civil case a few months back. The 'call' in question was actually an hour-long Skype session he'd told you about the next day like a lovesick teenager because the poor sucker had it bad and didn't even know it. Your lips tremble a little for wanting to form a knowing smile but you hold it back because you can't sell Sam out like that. Instead, you start to answer the question that wasn't meant for you with a firm, "nope" but what you don't expect is for Sam to sell _you_ out.

"Yes, this is her! I mean… please don't embarrass me, Mom."

You'll give him that he's a wonderful actor who was wasted on civil litigation. He could make a killing in court with a poker face like that. What you don't understand, however, is why the lie?

You bend past Mary slightly to send a questioning eyebrow raise in his direction but as you do Mary turns back to you, positively beaming. "Me? Embarrass you? Never! Y/N it's a pleasure to meet the girl my son is so infatuated with."

You smile as quickly as you are able, attempting to explain away your confused expression, "the pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Winchester. I just had no idea we were telling people yet. Right, Sam?"

"Please call me Mary."

You nod gratefully as Sam jumps up and slips an arm around your shoulders. The gesture itself is not unusual, you and Sam are best friends. You hug, you're playful and sometimes he pretends to be your boyfriend to scare away bar jerks when you give him the signal. His arm around your shoulders isn't odd because of the way he touches you but rather because of what he says as he does it, "oh I know we didn't plan to say anything honey but Mom surprised me with a visit before she leaves town and you walking in was just _perfect_ timing."

Unlike Sam you do spend a lot of time in court since you specialize in criminal law, so you're very good at reading between the lines and thinking on your feet. You do not miss the emphasis of his words or the plea for your help.  

"No problem babe, just give a girl some warning next time. I don't want to give your whole family a bad first impression down the road." You settle into your role easily, knowing Sam will hate the nickname but if you have to put up with 'honey' then you'd fight fire with fire.

Mary waves a hand dismissively, apparently too overjoyed at this turn of events to care, "nonsense. If you're half the woman, my Sam says you are then you're already perfect!"

You blush, completely involuntarily, basking in the glow of Mary's praise, even if it's praise intended for someone else who might love books more than Sam.

"Thank you, Mary. I'm so glad we got a chance to meet. But I'm sure you want to get lunch with Sam? I can spare him for the day, I'll catch up with him later." You grin and nudge him in the ribs from your vantage point, still tucked into his body by a heavy arm on you.

That's when Mary's eyes light up, "or, since he's been keeping you all to himself, we could all get lunch together so I can get to know you?"

And because you walked into the room complaining about your empty stomach and talking about being free of obligations there's absolutely no excuse on earth that can get you out of lunch with Sam and his mom.

* * *

"You're joking, right?" There are tears in your eyes and you're holding your aching sides as Mary tells you childhood stories about Sam. She's just finished a story about Sam having a terrible reaction to a clown when he was five. Kicking the poor guy in the shins and then stripping his clothes off and running around the birthday party naked until somebody caught him and calmed him down.

"No, really! His friend's mom calls me up and says I'll need to bring a new pair of underwear because he threw them somewhere and nobody knows where they got to!"

You both howl and you throw your head back. Sam, who's sitting next to you at his mother's insistence, is stiff as a board. "Could you maybe remember when I asked you not to embarrass me?"

His mom does not seem compliant, "it's fine. I'm sure Y/N's mom has plenty of stories too and maybe one day we can all trade them at a family event, like say, a wedding or something."

You smile at him with fake sympathy. His groan is comical, considering he got you both in this ridiculous situation. Plus, he's probably figuring out that he'll never hear your stories and yet you have these to hold over him forever. If you played your cards right you'd bet Mary could even get you some dorky childhood pictures to put on his next office birthday cake.

"I can't believe you kept me a secret from your mom, she has all the good gossip babe!" You've been laying it on thick for the last thirty minutes or so. Mary seems to be lapping it up and Sam glares down at you while you look up at him adoringly through fluttering eyelashes.

"Yeah. Sorry honey." He manages with an increasingly strained smile. You know you're going to pay for this, you just have no idea how.

Although your moment of fake intimacy with Sam seems to have given Mary an idea.

"I hope I'm not being forward, I haven't even spoken to Sam about this..."

"Mom." Sam makes the one little word threatening, she ignores it.

"Hush Sam. Anyway, I would love for you to come to the fourth of July with the family next weekend. If you don't have plans that is. The whole extended family comes in," she leans across the table and wraps two hands around yours reassuringly, "and I just know everybody would love to meet you. I can already tell you're going to be a Winchester someday."

You almost snort water through your nose at the idea of 'being a Winchester'. You know Mary is just being nice, so you resist, Sam's kick under the table also helps keep you in line.

"I'll have to talk to this guy," you hike a thumb over your shoulder in his general direction, "but I don't see why not."

It seems like exactly the answer Mary was hoping for and not what Sam wanted. Or exactly he wanted? You're not sure, he's twitchy and hard to read, which is unusual for him. All you know is he started this lie in the first place. Plus, it's not your fault that his mom is, apparently, the parent Sam inherited those hard to resist eyes from that look at you hopefully.

The rest of the lunch happens in a vague blur. By the end, Mary is hugging you goodbye and telling you she's so glad that she came to see Sam because it meant she met you. She makes it hard not to feel guilty about lying to her for over an hour.

Sam wraps his arm around you again as his mom gets into a cab and you both watch it drive off. You're a considerate person so you wait at least ten seconds after the car disappears before you turn in his arms and land a vicious punch to his ribs. You're not strong enough to cause any real damage to the giant of a man but you barely manage to swipe at him with the way he also sidesteps away from you.

"Mind explaining when we became a freaking couple?"

His eyes are wide and panicked but his smile is sheepish. He holds his hands up, palms facing you, in a show of defense. "I'm sorry, I just- let me explain."

You cross your arms and purse your lips, "I'm waiting for you to do exactly that babe, explain. Stop stalling."

There a lot more bite to the nickname as it slips out this time, but he knows you. Sam knows you're mad about being caught off guard more than anything else.

"I love my mom, I do. But you just spent an hour with her, you can see she's nuts, and her latest obsession is finding out about this woman I've been talking to. She wouldn't have given up. I only just asked Eileen out on a date, it's way too early for her to meet that crazy. I mean my mom just met you and you're invited to fourth of July."

He's tricky and he knows what part of his excuse you're going to be distracted by, "you finally asked her out? Sam, you sly dog, you didn't tell me! Your first real date!"

His shoulders shrug and his eyes roll, "I've dated women before Y/N/N but yeah we're going out on Friday."

"I'm proud of you, it only took you what three months? At this rate, you might have a real girlfriend by next July."

You both laugh, slipping back into your normal back and forth, "you're not mad?"

"I'm not thrilled that you decided to pawn me off as a pretend girlfriend without telling me, but it's fine. You know I'll always help you out if you need it. Besides, I know we're not supposed to say this out loud, but we do a considerable amount of lying for our jobs, what's one more between friends?"

He bumps your shoulder with his, except with Sam's height it's more like he bumps your shoulder with his bicep, "still friends huh?"

"As if I'd let you go what with all those childhood stories I have now! I've gotta get my kicks somehow."

He flashes you a bitch face and you, as always, reach up to grab at his chin, "don't bitch face me babe or I’ll surpise you with a clown in the office.”

You're not sure if it's the threat or the nickname that makes him roll his eyes again, but you can see the flash of genuine fear that he tries to hide. He needs to accept this is his life now. You have enough dirt on him for months of relentless torture.

* * *

The heavy courtroom doors spring open and you breathe a sigh of relief. The air feels lighter out here, less weighed down by the law and even though your client was just acquitted you're happier that you're free. It's been two days of back and forth but you're not due in court again for the rest of the week. You've never looked forward to two and a half days sat in your office more.

The drive to your building is short and the elevator ride to your office is quick. In no time at all you've sunk down in the comfortable desk chair with a smile. It's like coming home. Until there's a knock at your door reminding you that you're still on the clock.

Luckily, it's familiar long, brown hair that flops around the door, "Y/N?"

"Come in loverboy," yes, this joke is still going strong.

He slides into the room like it's a secret and closes the door firmly behind him. You don't care about that though, you're more concerned with the paper bag from your favorite deli in his hand.

He laughs as your eyes light up and you make childish grabby hands from your desk, "oh, did you want this?"

"Cut the crap, you hate their bagels."

He keeps playing because he's the worst fake boyfriend ever. He holds the bag at a height you wouldn't be able to reach standing, let alone still sat at your desk, "who says it's a bagel?"

You shake your head, disappointed in his lack of faith in you, "I know a bagel when I smell one."

Finally, he plops it down on the table in front of you with a smile, watching you gleefully rip the bag open and concentrate on spreading cream cheese with the small plastic knife. "Couldn't let my lady go hungry after her big case today. Good job by the way."

The thing with your running joke, the fake couple one, is that until now Sam hasn't joined in. He laughs, he might go as far as saying you'd 'make' the worst girlfriend, for how much you tease him, but he doesn't actually say the words. As if he thinks Eileen might find out.

You both know it's a joke. Sam is like a nerdy brother or dorky cousin to you. He's about as sexual as a Ken doll in your eyes. You can appreciate his objective handsomeness but downstairs he's smooth, and you're absolutely sure he feels the same way about you. It's what makes the joke so funny because it will never happen.

Which is why him suddenly playing along after a week of your playful mocking is suspicious. It makes you whip your head up to look at him skeptically.

"Excuse me?" You splutter through a mouth full of deliciousness.

"Thought I should get used to calling you it before the weekend."

He says it so casually you're not sure if he's actually casual or if he's just super good at pretending to be.

You're cautious as you ask, afraid of taking some imaginary bait, "what are you talking about?"

"Fourth of July weekend with the Winchesters."

You laugh. His answer catches you so off guard that it bursts out of you. "Ok. I admit it, you're good, you almost had me. But if I remember rightly you told me I had a stomach bug this weekend and we'd be breaking up in a few weeks."

"About that..." he starts running a hand through his hair, an obvious sign that he wasn't as cool as he's pretending to be.

"What did you do?" Your tone is hard, but your entire face softens as you take another bite. You can't stay mad at food and damn does Sam know it.

"I was talking to mom and… well… she's so excited. Then I mentioned that you weren't feeling so great and next thing I know it's either stay here and look after you or we both go together. So, I mean the choice is yours but…"

"If I don't go to the family get together then Sam doesn't get to go?"

"Pretty much."

You suck in a lungful of air considering your options. It's not like you have your own family get together to go to, you have no siblings and two cousins that you haven't seen in a few years. Plus, your parents aren't the family backyard barbeque type. They're the go out to dinner at a nice restaurant and then take you to the opera for your fourteenth birthday type. In other words, they're Republicans.

He sits down and lets you finish your bagel, which you do. If you take an excruciatingly long time, chewing every mouthful twenty times, then so be it. You're not going to say no, obviously. Sam is your friend, his mom is nice enough, you don't have anything better to do and he keeps mentioning this barbeque which you assume will have grilled meats of every kind. Plus, you know Sam, pretty damn well, and you know he doesn't go home often, he wouldn't be asking you to do this if it didn't mean a lot to him.

Just because you know you're going to say yes doesn't mean you can't have a little fun with him first.

"This is a pretty big ask Sam. I mean a whole weekend of Winchesters."

He nods, sullenly, from the seat he'd taken up while you ate in silence, "I know. It's my fault all this happened anyway."

"Why don't you just say you broke up with me and go home alone?" You ponder good-naturedly.  

"Are you kidding me? She'd kill me. It'll be bad enough when I tell her in a few weeks. Plus, I'd spend the whole weekend as poor can't-keep-a-girl Sammy."

You almost splutter bagel everywhere, "Sammy?"

His cheeks flush if only for a second, "my brother calls me it."

A wicked grin spreads across your face. "OK. Here's the deal. I'll come with you and be a perfectly doting girlfriend all weekend if I can call you Sammy now and forever because that's the cutest thing I've ever heard."

He lets out this puff of frustration mixed with acceptance because of course, he's going to fold like a cheap suit. "Do I have a choice?"

If possible, your grin gets even winder, "of course not _Sammy_."

* * *

"Making my way downtown walking fast faces past and I'm homebound!"

"How much do I have to pay to get you to skip this song?"

"And I need you. And I miss you. And now I WONDERRRRRRRR"

Sam is driving to the airport and you'd insisted on control of the music. He’d cited some rule of his brothers and you’d cited this massive thing you’re doing for him. It's easy to insist on things when you're doing him a favor and boy did you plan to use that superpower all weekend. By Sunday night he would be giving you piggyback rides to the bathroom if you could help it.

You're flying down straight after work since it's only an hour or so and that way you'll have a full day Saturday and Sunday. It turns out that fourth of July weekend is a bigger deal than you'd realized when Mary had asked you. You'd assumed it was a quick little backyard shindig. Oh no. This was _the_ event of the Winchester calendar, it was nothing short of a full-blown family reunion and the more Sam tells you the more you see why he really wanted to go.

Not only is his family all the things families should be; huge, crazy and constantly fighting, but they apparently go all out for this thing. There are traditions. Some of them are little things like someone called Bobby who brings the best bourbon and refuses to tell anyone where he got it. Some of them are big things like the illegal fireworks his Dad always manages to get. Because that's a thing people do apparently?

His life is basically the opposite of the one you had growning up and it concerns you that you may not fit in with these people. You and Sam first bonded joining the firm only a few months apart which meant he'd only ever known the adult version of you, not the good little rich girl you'd grown up as. There's a very real worry that these people will sniff out your privilege hate you. But lunchtime the day of your flight is not a good time to try and back out.

So, your afternoon had been spent trying to distract yourself and maybe taking a small nip from the flask in your desk drawer. It wouldn't kill anyone, but it had calmed you down. Stopped the panic that tried to take hold, not just for meeting all these people but lying to their faces while doing it. You figure it's the whiskey that's making you sing now.

The airport is hurried even on a Friday evening and before you know it you're on board the tiny aircraft and strapped in. As soon as you're in the air you order another whiskey, even if Sam thinks it's your first, he eyes you worriedly.

"You're not a nervous flyer, are you?"

You shake your head, smiling as the flight attendant hands you a whiskey that's definitely too nice to be served in a plastic cup, "no. It just hit me today that I'm meeting your entire family. I haven't exactly done the big family thing before."

He slides down a little in his seat and leans in as if someone else on the plane might be listening, "it'll be fine really. They're all crazy. Great, but crazy." There's a slight pause, "you'll fit right in."

"Don't make me tell everyone in the office to start calling you Sammy when we get back."

He gulps, and you laugh. Both of you know to keep your jokes between yourselves. That's the unwritten rule.

"Anyway, you never told me, in all the prep and telling me about aunts and uncles and cousins, who’s your favorite? Who are you most excited to see?"

He doesn't hesitate, there's just this slow smile that spreads over his face like he's caught in a memory you wish you could see, and then he looks at you with shining eyes, "my brother."

He's not spoken much about his brother so maybe he's the secret Sam had leaned down to keep quiet. You hadn't questioned it when Sam was preparing you, you figured that he was focussing on telling you about the family members you didn't already know about. You'd met his mom and you were at least aware of his dad and brother, so it hadn't seemed weird that he'd been determined to tell you about Uncle Bobby, Aunt Jodie and the rest. But now there's something different on Sam's face. This is like pure hero worship, it's childlike and innocent and absolutely adorable.

"Tell me about him. Dean, right? He's picking us up at the airport?"

"Yeah. He owns his own garage out in St. Louis and he's basically a genius…"

Between the whiskey and Sam's soothing voice as he talks about Dean it's no surprise that you take a quick power nap that lasts the entirety of the hour and a half flight.

* * *

"Wake up honey."

You don't open your eyes, but you can feel his long fingers wrapped around your shoulder as he shakes you gently, "what the hell?"

His laugh low and deep, "I was practicing, since we're in Kansas already Toto."

That makes your eyes spring open. You're all curled up on the seat except for your lap which is still strapped in somehow, Sam looking down at you with a smile.

"We landed already babe?" You might as well get into character as well.

He nods, "yeah. I'm surprised you slept through but somehow you managed."

The flight attendant wanders over and that's when you see that most of the other passengers are already leaving the plane. It's you, Sam and only a few other stragglers left in your seats.

"Ahh, you finally got her awake?" She asks Sam knowingly.

"Yeah, I normally love watching her sleep, but I figured I had to wake her up at some point."

The woman honestly looks like she might melt as she presses her hand to her chest. She clearly has some cliché about them breaking the mold with him on the tip of her tongue, but she's called away by some struggling passenger whose bag is stuck. When she's out of earshot you whisper to Sam, "you're sickening, you know that?"

"Only for you sweet pea."

You wrinkle your nose in distaste, "no way, sweet pea is not an approved nickname. That's off the table"

He tries flashing you his puppy dog eyes but it's difficult to hit you with the full power of them while he's handling the bags.

You stand up in the limited space in front of your seat and proceed to stretch the flight out of your upper body. "Don't give me that look. I mean, you can have sweet pea if you don't mind your family finding out that I call you sugar buns."

He frowns and freezes mid-reach, "that's just mean."

"Don't test me, I'll go full schnookums." You warn with a wagging finger in his face.

These games you play with Sam lessen whatever guilt you have about lying for the weekend because it keeps the whole thing as just that, a game.

He must notice how it puts you at ease, or it must put him at ease too because you both keep the jokes light and breezy as you clear security and wander through Kansas City airport. At some point getting close to arrivals he takes your hand and you let him. It's comforting, casual. It feels like slipping on a mask that you need to wear for a few days but it's not as much pressure as you thought it would be because it's just Sam.

Or at least it's just Sam until it's not.

You see the sign first. It's a picture of this kid, teenager, who must be no more than twelve or thirteen and he's sporting this floppy boy band haircut and a smile that you just know is all Sam, even if it's a little gap-toothed back then. It's clearly a school photo due to the typical blue backdrop and pose, except it's been stuck on this bit of poster board with, "Sammy Winchester" in big block letters underneath.

Then you look up from the poster board and there's the happiest, proudest smile attached to this guy holding it up. Sam starts walking a little faster, fingers still laced with yours and dragging you along, until he gets to the stranger and hisses, "Dean, what the hell?"

"Sammy!" is all that comes out of his mouth before he wraps his arms around Sam, an impressive feat since Sam has a few inches on his older brother. Dean still has the poster board flapping in one hand while he squeezes Sam, who lets go of you to hug Dean back.

When they do break apart Dean seems to be all but forgiven for the sign, although Sam doesn't seem like he was _really_ that mad about it. You are already making plans to try and get your hands on the picture.

Dean turns his face to you and that's when you have to bite back a gasp seeing him up close. You don't know what it was when you met Sam, but you never once felt that tingle, despite how empirically attractive Sam is. Dean is, unfortunately, having the absolute opposite effect. Your eyes dart over every inch of his face and you don't find a single spot that you don't want to taste with the tip of your tongue. In the blink of an eye, you wonder what his lips feel like and whether his jaw would hang as heavy and strong in the palm of your hand as it looks. The freckles on his face are like a map you want to trail with your finger, and his eyes, god help you, it's like looking into his soul. And that soul is every shade of green that's ever existed, he's all cheeky kindness and grumpy anger in one.

Except you can't say any of that because Sam slips his hand around your waist as Dean beams at you, warm and happy, "you must be Sam's girl?"

There it is. The first thing you'll ever hear Dean say to you is that you _must_ be Sam's girl.

You splutter and choke a little, the answer not wanting to come out. Sam probably doesn't expect you to fail so miserably at the first hurdle although you only hope that he doesn't know why you're so nervous to agree all of a sudden.

"Sorry, this cutie just woke up, she slept the whole way. Dean this is my girlfriend Y/N. Honey, this is my brother Dean."

You somehow find the mask, the girlfriend mask you're supposed to be wearing that slipped off immediately at the sight of Dean and pull it back up. You thrust a hand out with a somewhat convincing smile, "erm, right. Sorry. Long day. Hi Dean, nice to meet you."

When he takes it, calloused fingers wrapped around yours, you wonder what his hands would feel like over your entire body, or specifically latched at your hips. Sam said he was a mechanic, right? You'd be willing to bet he's good with those warm, thick fingers of his. "Pleasure, mom said you were beautiful but…"

Sam purses his lips next to you, cutting his brother off at the chase, "come on Dean, you can try and flirt with _my_ girlfriend tomorrow, let's just get back home."

Dean seems to take this as a promise and flashes you a wink before taking your case from you. You fight to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck, or the tightness in your stomach. He pushes the poster board into Sam's chest and takes his brothers case too, walking a few steps ahead towards the parking lot.

"Hey, you ok?" Sam sounds worried and it adds to your nausea. You'd felt a little sick about lying to strangers but now you're also letting your him down.

"Yeah sorry. Like you said, just tired," he doesn't seem to wholly buy it, so you add, "plus I'm totally just trying to figure out how I get my hands on that picture without you realizing."

The joke, at least, he seems to believe. You would just have to do a better job at lying to absolutely everyone now, including your best friend, and maybe yourself.

* * *

The drive 'home' is a little under an hour which you spend sitting silently in the back pretending to be asleep again. You have zero chance of actually falling asleep since your brain won't switch off.

They don't talk much at first and you're sitting there with your eyes closed thinking about what an absolute mess you are in. Then halfway in they do start talking and unfortunately, it's about you. It's like the opposite of every time you want to overhear a conversation about yourself. As soon as they start you desperately want to be anywhere else.

Dean clears his throat first, "how is it that you end up with _her_ and the first I hear about it is a week ago when mom tells me you're bringing a girl?"

You don't know whether the way he emphasized that was a good or bad thing.

"We work together dude. You spend enough time with somebody… late nights looking over legal precedents…" Sam trails off leaving his implication hanging in the air and it's difficult not to laugh. Your late nights are normally ordering takeout to the office and Sam not judging you for eating more than him.

"Pshh. Just like you to woo a chick like that with boring legal jargon. She's way out of your league little brother." Somehow you can hear Dean's stupid smile.

"She's a lawyer too. And it worked didn't it? Besides she's out of everyone's league." You know that Sam's being nice because he's your friend and you're playing these parts, but you've never wanted him to shut up more than you do right now.

"It must be- you must be serious about her? Bringing her home this weekend. This isn't just meeting mom and dad, it's everyone."

You never even considered how this looks to other people if you're honest. You were so concerned with playing your part well enough that you didn't think about how it comes off to everyone else. Dean is completely right, this isn't a little thing, this is every important person in Sam's life over two days. And he brought you, his fake girlfriend. The one he plans to break up in a few weeks.

Sam hesitates, you can hear him thinking in the silence. Probably the same thoughts as yours swirling about his head. You know that he's not serious about you, as a girlfriend anyway. The woman he is serious about is back in Chicago. She's waiting on a date that Sam postponed till he gets back because he didn't feel right going through with this weekend and dating her at the same time. Because even caught up in this ridiculous lie he's a gentleman and when Sam does something with someone he actually cares about, he does it right.

Therefore, the lie that slips out of him scares you with how sincere it sounds, "I wouldn't have brought her if I wasn't."

You don't know what's worse. That Sam was probably thinking about Eileen while he lied to his brother or that you were worried about what his brother might think.

The only sound for the rest of the trip is the low hum of rock music emanating from the aged speaker system. Dean hums a few songs and you can't help but want to know more. Are they just the ones he listens to the most or are they his actual favorites?  

When you get there, you feign waking up as the rumble of the engine ceases. It's fairly obvious your eyes don't have the residue of sleep, you're not tousled or creased like sleeping in the back of a car would make you, but neither of them says anything. You doubt they even pick up on it in the dark. Instead, they each get a case from the trunk and lead you into a decent sized family home in suburbia. Sam laces his fingers with yours again and squeezes when you get inside, whether for you or for him it doesn't matter. You appreciate the support anyway. This is a home where neither of them knocks, a place that's still their home even when they've grown up and left the nest. Again, it's a new concept for you.

Seconds after the sound of the door closing echoes through the house Mary appears. Despite it getting late she brightens at the sight of Sam, wasting no time in marching up to him and hugging him as if he's still her little boy rather than the giant man that he is. It's nice to see this greeting since you missed it before, what you don't expect is to be wrapped up yourself after she lets go of him.

Apparently, the Mary you met, who invited you after knowing you only an hour, was the reserved version. Now you're in her home there's no escaping the full force of Mary Winchester.

"I'm so glad you could come Y/N, Sam said you weren't feeling well? Almost didn't make it?"

You only just remember then that you were supposed to be sick this weekend, "it was nothing, just a bug. I blame my speedy recovery on Sam looking after me so well."  

The slightly shorter woman's eyes sparkle playfully, "only a bug? Not, say, morning sickness?"

"Mom!" Sam interrupts sharply, "we've only been dating a few months."

Mary waves him off but you support his argument, assuring her quickly, "there's absolutely no way. Sammy and I are very careful."

Dean makes a gruff sound from where he's standing the other side of you. When you all look at him he pouts in his mother's direction, effectively distracting her better than either you or Sam could manage. She concedes without much fight and hugs him too. "I only saw you a few hours ago."

His face tells her that information is irrelevant.

You're ushered into the living room next to greet a man who could only be John Winchester. Sam hasn't told you much about him except that he was no-nonsense and formidable in his opinions so you're wishing you could have had a shower or something. John is, in every way, the physical representation of Sam's description. He's all broad shoulders like Dean and dark hair like Sam. He's this mountain of a man which makes it all the stranger when he cracks this smile at you, a smile you can't place to either of his sons.

"You must be Y/N. The woman keeping Sam in line."

You shake his hand, making it as firm as possible, he seems like the kind of man who will respect that. From the twinkle in his eye, you think maybe he does.

"I don't know that Sam needs keeping in line, Mr. Winchester. He is the line."

John barks out a laugh that sets everyone else off. It feels like a test you've passed but you're not sure what the question was.

"Please, call me John."

And that's it. You've been weighed and measured by John Winchester, the patriarch, and apparently been deemed worthy. Or worthy enough to earn your first night's stay at least. You can tell that as much as he lends you a smile now, John isn't finished with you yet.

He turns to Sam next, the same handshake and some jibes about the big city Chicago lawyer. You decide to keep your New York heritage a secret, for a tonight at least. You were too tired to defend yourself with any discernible wit right now.

In fact, it's your yawn that prompts Mary into action.

"Leave them alone John, they're exhausted. You can pick on your son tomorrow after he's had a good night's sleep."

"Yeah, looking forward to it dad," Sam says pointedly but not really, a wry grin on his face.

Dean is gone somewhere, and you've only just noticed as you wish them both goodnight and turn around to follow Sam. You don't know how long he's been gone either, but your chest hollows a little at the thought of not saying goodnight to him. And you wanted to thank him for the ride. And maybe, just see him again.

Sam's smile refocuses you. He reminds you of your loyalty, you're here for him. The guy that's there for you five days a week, and some weekends, the guy that goes over your cases with you while you help him with his. The guy who takes you out for dinner when you're sad and lets you bake him cookies, that he actually eats, when he's blue.

You couldn't let one very attractive, handsome brother distract you from being the best fake girlfriend you could be.

* * *

You'd hoped to pass out as soon as Sam showed you where you'd been sleeping but then you'd had a whole new room to look at. His childhood bedroom. It was a surprisingly intimate place to find yourself in. You'd only ever known Sam, the adult man who walked around in suits and said things like, "that information wasn't in the discovery." His room was all Sammy. All the little pieces of him through the years. You could see where his childhood had turned into his teenage years and pieces of everything melded together. There were books everywhere that made it look like he'd only left yesterday.

When you've finished teasing him relentlessly and finally lay down on one side of the bed, him on the other side, there's a comfortable silence. Both of you staring up at the ceiling, acutely aware that neither of you is asleep yet.

He breaks it first.

"I never really thanked you."

You don't think you can bring yourself to look at him not when the back of your mind had been thinking about a different Winchester, but even if you can't look at him your voice is thick with the shame you're feeling, "you don't have to."

"No, I do. This is pretty crazy, and I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd have laughed in my face. I mean, don't get me wrong you yanked my chain enough, but you didn't even think to say no."

He's too heartfelt and honest, it makes your gut ache. "Seriously it's nothing."

"It's not though."

"It's fine."

He huffs, and you feel him turn his head to stare you down, "would you just accept my appreciation, so we can get on with our lives?"

You smile and shake your head, still looking up, "you're welcome Sammy. Seriously, you know I'd do anything for you." You mean it, you really do.

"Same here. Night Y/N."

"Night babe."

He nudges you in the ribs for ruining a perfectly nice moment. You wait till he's asleep before you roll over to face the wall and close your eyes.

* * *

The next morning you wake up to an empty bed and a note that says Sam has gone for a run. This is supposed to be his weekend off and he's gone for a run? He needed to learn to relax, he was such a disappointment.

When you're done judging him you realize that you have no idea where the bathroom is, and Sam clearly doesn't have his own since there's only one door. Which means you get to play the fun game of sneaking around your fake boyfriend's house in your pajamas.

Sam's room is, at least, the first one at the top of the stairs so there's only one direction to go. The carpet is soft beneath your bare feet as you sneak, high knees and elongated movements. You need to have a little fun with this task since it has the potential to be so awkward.

Then you walk past the next room and the door hangs wide open. It's clearly Dean's room. It's certainly not their parent's room and you figure if they kept Sam's room the same then they probably did the same with Deans. Dean doesn't have a sea of books and academia. Dean has classic rock posters on his walls and a football helmet on top of his desk, which tells you the kind of guy he probably was in high school. Unlike Sam's room, which was pretty tidy, Deans could have still been in use by a teenager for the clothes already strewn about the place. An observation that makes you laugh, when his voice rumbles from behind you heavier than the engine of his car, "what's so funny, sweetheart?"

You jump and in doing so step further into the room to enable a dramatic spin that ends with you planted in front of him with both fists raised, "Dean! Don't- you shouldn't jump up on people like that."

He finds your stance or your words amusing, either way, he chuckles, "you're in my room?"

He has a point. "I was just innocently looking for the bathroom, it's not my fault you left your door open and I'm a curious person."

"Where's Sam?" As he walks past your eyes finally catch up with your situation. His hair is still wet from the shower and he has a towel wrapped around his waist. Although he's wearing a t-shirt it's thin and it’s sticking to his wet skin leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Every line of his body is outlined in cotton.

As you finally answer him you have to look up at the ceiling like he's naked, which he practically is, "he went for a run before I woke up. Like most people I actually like sleep, so I guess he figured he'd be back before I was up."

"Take it you're not an exercise freak like Sammy?" You're still not looking at him, so you can't see the way he's grinning as he watches you pace on the spot.

"No! Walking around a courtroom yelling 'you can't handle the truth' is usually all the exertion I need."

He laughs again, and you smile to yourself for having got that sound out of him before your bladder reminds you of what you were looking for.

"So, erm, do you think you could tell me where the bathroom is?"

"Shit, yeah. Sorry. It's the next door on your right. You were _so_ close to finding it on your own."

You finally pull your eyes from the corner of the room, taking a step towards him and jabbing a finger in his chest, "don't patronize me." It doesn't come out as jokingly as you meant it, there's this low huskiness to it since you spin to him and he's still in that towel. This close to him you can make out every, single freckle. The shirt he's wearing, thankfully, isn't sticking as much. The sinful picture he had been moments ago becoming a little softer around the edges, no less tempting, but softer.

If he notices the way you look over him he hides it. Probably because you belong to his brother. Maybe he wouldn't even consider looking at you like that anyway. It doesn't matter. Dean is dangerous territory and being alone with him in his room, more so. He makes you forget your obligations, like the one to Sam.

Sam. Shit, you needed to get out of here before you lose all control.

"Thanks, Dean, I appreciate it. And, erm, nice room." It's a poor attempt at pretending you'd been distracted by his stuff rather than him. No doubt he'll see through it but hopefully, he won't call you out on it.

Not that you give him a chance to. You skulk away quickly, falling into the bathroom and closing the door with a satisfying click of the lock. Safety. For at least a few minutes anyway.

* * *

Breakfast had been just you and Sam, Dean having finished eating as you both walked in and Mary and John already out for the morning. Apparently, their parents were notoriously early risers which is where Sam had inherited the habit from. Nobody knew where Dean had got his love of sleeping in.

So, without anyone else breakfast had been peaceful and without pretense. You'd hardly even talked, opting instead to eat and enjoy the silent joy that came with not having to pretend. Eventually, you'd both started scrolling through your phones over coffee, only muttering the tiniest of titbits to each other about news articles or emails.

Now, it is decidedly past breakfast and you are sitting on the edge of Sam's bed again, aghast, as Sam explains today's activity.

Winchester family baseball.

"No, Sam. No. That's not a real thing that people do. This isn't some cheesy movie, people don't have family games of baseball on fourth of July weekend." You're not sure what he's searching in his closet for, but you don't appreciate only having half his attention.

"We do. Dad's coached little league since Dean was old enough to hold a ball and everyone is so competitive anyway, it just became a thing."

You don't know whether to laugh or cry. Then Sam makes an "ah-ha" sound and you find sobs caught in your throat at what he pulls out.

It's this white, worn baseball jersey with ‘Winchester’ on the back printed over the number 2. It cements his story with a foundation of truth. This is actually a thing that they do and you're going to have to take part. Sam once again proving that he isn't an idiot. He knows if he'd have told you about this before you came, you'd have stayed home.

And then he pulls out a second jersey. "You can wear this one."

Oh, he knows exactly what he's doing.

"I'm not wearing that." You fold your arms over your chest to illustrate your point and eye the thing suspiciously, like touching it might give you cooties.

He shakes the hanger it's on to try and tempt you into taking it anyway. "Come on honey. I promise it'll be fun."

He's never seen you play, well, any sports but he knows you have the coordination of a fish out of water. That's probably why he's enjoying this so much. He's clearly evil and he's only giving you that irresistible look of his to ensure that you thoroughly embarrass yourself.

You have no athletic ability, the stuff you do during your occasional gym visits is just exercising not, sports. You don't play sports, you hardly watch any sports. The closest you've ever got to watching a baseball game is watching The Sandlot and you know who you related to most in that film? The kid who knows nothing about baseball and loses a priceless piece of baseball memorabilia to a giant dog. In fact, the film is mostly about kids being afraid of a dog, not baseball.

But you're Sam's girl, kind of, and this is part of the deal. You eventually snatch the jersey from him and hold it up to your chest, it's a little big but not as long as you're expecting, and he answers your unasked question with a chuckle, "that's from before my growth spurt."

"Fine Sammy. You want me to play the part and wear your jersey like some horny little teenage fantasy you probably had? Then I'll do it."

His face falls a little, "what are you going to do?"

"You'll see. On a totally unrelated note do you have any tube socks I can borrow?"

* * *

You'd gone a little too far, maybe, you could admit that. Not out loud, of course, you never actually admitted defeat in case anyone heard you, but internally you could hold your hands up. This was a bit of a cheap joke for a family reunion.

Although it is hot out, maybe you could blame the weather for how you're dressed.

You've got these little denim cut offs on that are inches from being hot pants and these socks of Sam's pulled up to just below your knees. He'd found some with red stripes on the top so basically, straight out of a porno. Sam's Jersey is hanging off your shoulders, the deep v cut stops just above your breasts and it's almost long enough to cover the shorts, so you half-heartedly tucked one side in, letting it hang casually over one hip.

This outfit is ridiculous, matched with your hair in braids and big sunglasses sitting on your nose. You'd walked into Sam's room after commandeering the bathroom to get ready, and the poor guy had almost choked. He'd tried to tell you that you couldn't wear that, and you'd told him to shove it where the sun doesn't shine. Then, much more eloquently you added that Sam wasn't allowed to tell you what to do as your friend and there was no way in hell he could tell you what to do as your fake boyfriend.

It's only as you pull up at this gorgeous park, tons of trees and greenery and a baseball diamond in the distance, that you catch on. Sam wasn't worried about himself, in fact, you'd worn these shorts at last year's company picnic, so he'd seen them before. He just had the foresight to consider the fact that you'd be meeting mostly everyone for the first time dressed like a wet dream. As comfortable as you are in the outfit the sight of the gathering people, carrying coolers and bags of food like it's a pilgrimage, makes you tug nervously at the braids from the back seat of the Impala. It doesn't help that Dean hasn't looked at you since you skipped out of the house and even now he gets out the car without a passing glance in your direction and hollers at someone in a trucker cap as he walks off.

"I told you not to wear that."

Sam's know-it-all attitude clashes with your stubbornness and gives you back a slither of your earlier confidence, "this is a perfectly acceptable outfit and I would have thought that my boyfriend would like this."

He shakes his head despite his answer, "he does, he does. Your boyfriend just hopes that nobody else likes it or I'll have to get jealous or something."

Even trying to play along you can't imagine Sam with a jealous bone in his body, trying to conjure the image makes you smile away any lingering nerves.  

"Thanks, Sam. At least everyone will know I'm yours huh?"

"That was the idea behind the jersey. The shorts don't have my name on though."

The extra thirty seconds joking with him, and those few extra breaths, has given you back enough of your earlier attitude that you bow your head forward with an expression that asks him if he really wants to go there.

He backs away from the topic wisely while you both slide out of the car, "ok, alright. Let's just go introduce you to everyone so they can start telling me that you're too good for me. I mean I was hoping to wait until tomorrow before they started on that but…"

"You know I only dressed like this so that nobody would notice how bad I am at baseball right?" You slip an arm through his as you cut him off.

He pats your arm sympathetically, "you look hot Y/N, but you don't look _that_ hot."

Somehow, he slips away from you faster than you comprehend his words. When you finally catch up your eyes flare and he's jogging backward away from you, "what did you just say, Winchester?"

He knows he's in trouble when you use his last name and yet, he's cocky as he answers, "you heard me!"

There's a playful grin on his face now as you set out in a run after him, "you're so dead!"

You're so focused on catching up with him, an impossible task given the length of his legs compared to yours, that you don't notice running past handfuls of people you're supposed to be there to meet. There is nothing on your mind but revenge, which seems all the more possible when Sam stops dead ahead of you.

"Dad?' is the only questioning syllable Sam stutters out before you slam into his side taking him to the floor with ease now that he's let his guard down.

He could easily overpower you, but he's just distracted enough to not save himself. There's a howl of a laugh from someone as you both go down though you don't know enough people to hazard a guess of who it comes from.

All you know is that you hadn't adequately prepared for what you were going to do when you took him down. So, your big dramatic revenge becomes you getting up and leaving him on the floor with a telling, "thought so."

Sam jumps up and starts wiping grass stains from his jeans when John wipes the smile from his face, "if this little miss can take you down what good is your team going to have this year?"

You're not sure if this is an incredibly tense, serious moment or if everyone is about to start laughing so you patiently wait with bated breath.  
Sam's lip twitches, "don't worry dad. Dean's going down this year."

Now you can't shut up when you hear mention of the other Winchester. "Dean?"

Both men in front of you share a suspiciously well-timed nod, it's John that answers you, "Dean and Sam are captains. Dean won the last four years in a row."

Sam hunches his shoulders in on himself making him look strangely small, "five actually."

An idea pops into your head that has nothing to do with spending more time with the older Winchester, "Sammy, I think I have a plan."

* * *

"Are you sure it's not cheating? Shouldn't I tell someone that I was almost drafted for the majors before I decided to go to law school?"

You're huddled with Sam whispering at a volume that can't really be considered whispering anymore, in earshot of someone called Michael. Apparently, Michael will absolutely take this information straight to Dean, you just had to sell it.

He affects an overly soothing tone, "it'll be fine. There's no rulebook, this is just a family game."

"A family game you brought your semi-pro softball playing girlfriend too?" You're actually starting to believe you're good at sports, that's how you know it's going well.

"I really want to win."

"Are you sure he won't pick me?"

Sam laughs convincingly, "no, Dean only picks the best players first and he has no idea about how good you are."

You giggle, the sound is foreign for how much you giggle in everyday life. But this isn't everyday life, it's Winchester family baseball. "Ok babe. If you say so. Let's kick Dean's ass!"

He wraps an arm around you and leads you away. Michael waits hardly a second before he's running off into the distance.

"You think he bought it?" you ask Sam as he hands you a beer, which you start drinking with earnest, no longer caring if alcohol further dampened your sporting abilities.

"Mike? Yeah, he bought it, he doesn't move that fast for anything outside of the game."

You hardly finish your drink before everyone is summoned by the booming voice of John Winchester. He's loud enough to call everyone without the need for amplification and everyone automatically gathers around him in a semi-circle.

"Boys?" is all he says to pull Sam and Dean out of the small crowd and stand either side of him, "we all know the rules by now. Dean picks first if you ain't drafted then…"

The rest of whatever John says becomes white noise because you've suddenly realized you had the option not to play. There are more than 18 people here, they have enough people to spare. All you had to do was keep your big mouth shut and tell Sam not to pick you himself and you'd have got away with this. You glare at Sam and mouth, "I didn't have to play?"

You know he understands because he smiles in the same way that he did when he got you in the office secret Santa two years ago and you worked out it was him. This is slightly more menacing though. Like he planned this all along.

"I'll take Y/N." Dean is smirking, the poor idiot, like he won a prize.

"No, seriously. You don't want me. I shouldn't play." You start waving your hands and backing up but you hit a wall of people behind you, one of whom you recognize as Aunt Jody, and she slowly pushes you forward.  

Sam pretends to be mad enough that you almost believe him, "Dean she's my girlfriend. Don't you think I should pick her?"

John puts a heavy hand on Sam's shoulder, "you know the rules, Sammy. Once someone is picked they have to play, no takebacks."

There something in John's eyes that makes you realize this is bigger than you. You've stumbled across something, a conspiracy, that goes all the way to the top. And just as you think about blowing the whole thing wide open, because you're a lawyer so you've got the skills, you're pushed towards Dean. Both his hands reach out to catch your shoulders and he smiles down at you, making you melt.

"I choose Michael."

The moment ends as quickly as it began, Dean pivots you behind him as he turns to his brother, "Mikey is always on my team. Everyone knows that."

Sam sing songs, "then maybe you should have picked him, dude."

It seems impossible that you can hear Dean grind his teeth together but you're 100% sure you can. Along with the tick in his jaw. His entire upper body is visibly tensed as he swerves back to the rest of his family and barks out another name.

His stance doesn't change throughout the entire process. Dean yells fiercely at his team members and Sam can't wipe the grin off of his face now. As soon as the teams are full and everyone disperses you rush over to Sam.

"You were perfect, Dean totally bought it." He assures you.

You put a hand on your hip, angrier than you probably should be, "is this some big plan? To screw him over? Is your dad in on it?"

"Woah, Woah. We're just messing with him. He wins every year and we're taking him down a few notches. I swear it really is just a game."

Your chest won't stop rising and falling at an uncontrollable pace, you know you started this but you had meant it to be lighthearted and now it feels mean. You tell yourself that it's Sam not telling you something that has you so bothered, not the fact that it's Dean who will be upset. Still you manage a nod, "next time I would appreciate you telling me _before_ we screw someone over."

* * *

"Dean, I need to tell you something."

He has his back to you as he talks to the rest of the team so when he whips around at your approach with a smirk like you're the answer to his prayers you're thrown. Your mind stops and the reason you'd rushed over flies out of your mind.

"It's ok, I _know_."

"No, you really don't. Sam and I kind of set something up."

He's more insistent this time and even goes as far as to clap a hand on your shoulder, which, is this the first time you've touched him? No, it can't be. Or could be for how giddy his touch makes you.

"I get it. But I picked you first. Don't worry you're my secret weapon."

And that sounds pretty great. Dean picking you. Dean calling you his secret weapon. You could get used to it. And you get distracted by it as he starts saying things that you have no understanding of. Something about innings and then he asks you if you're a power hitter?

That's easy to deny, insist upon really, with wide eyes. Thankfully he believes it and tells you you're batting last, or as he says it; save the best until last.

You all go sit on this bench, that you later find out is called a dugout, or in a dugout? How he hadn't already found you out was laughable.

Claire bats first and Dean leans over to you and mutters, "she's fast." Like you'd understand why that was a good tactical choice. The problem is every time you try to tell him that you're not an expert he shushes you and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. His own jersey, with a number one under his name, tightens around his biceps when he does it and the muscles in his back twitch distractingly. The sight makes the pads of your fingers tingle for wondering what it would feel like to feel those muscle flex under your hands.

And then you forget to tell him. Again.

Until finally Garth is stepping up to 'the plate'. So far you've not had a chance to use any of your 50's baseball references from _The Sandlot_ and that's when it dawns on you that you're next.

You watch in horror as Garth, this scrawny guy who looks like he'd be knocked over by a breeze, hits the ball pretty far. Far enough that he makes it to third base.

"Awesome. Think you can hit a homer?"

What? WHAT?! You look up at Dean who is waiting expectantly for both your answer and you to get up. When you do neither he pulls you up with his hand wrapped around yours before he nudges you towards home plate.

"You got this."

You don't 'got this' but Dean telling you that you do convinces you that maybe, magically, you might have it.

Sam is pitching so it's easy to see the not very restrained grin on his face. The bat in your hands feels heavy and you're not used to the weight enough to counterbalance it properly, it's as unsteady in the air as you are. Everyone else before you had their own stance, some threw a practice swing, Dean hitched the bat onto his shoulders then rolled them back full of confidence. By comparison, you're visually awkward.

You're not sure who's in shortstop because of that thing on their face but Sam does that bit pitchers do in the movies, like shaking his head at whatever shortstop guy is suggesting. Even if you tried to look you'd have no idea what the dumb signals mean. A hatred for baseball grows inside you at an alarming rate, nations pastime your ass. Then someone shouts your name.

You snap your attention back to the game in time to see the ball leave Sam's hand and then whizz eerily close to your face. You jump like a bolt of electricity sent you hurtling backward, "what the fuck!" Sam, your apparent best friend, and supposed boyfriend laughs his ass off on the pitcher's mound. Ok. Maybe it hadn't been that close to your face, but it wasn't much closer to the bat either.  

"Strike one!" John's voice booms carrying with it the heavy weight of failure.

You huff, flashing angry eyes at Sam before spreading your feet a little wider apart trying to gain better footing. There's a slight butt wiggle you're not proud of, hoping to distract anyone you can, and your hands tighten around the bat. You would hit this ball or die trying.

"Strike two!" You'd at least swung that time, albeit in slow motion compared to the ball.

"Timeout!" Dean barks out before his dad has finished saying two.

There's a collective groan from both teams and someone in the infield shouts out, "give it up"

Dean ignores all of them as he walks over, your mouth opens before his, "I tried to tell you ok. It was a setup, I don't know anything about this dumb game. And now you've picked me and lost Michael and it's all my fault. I'm a dead weight."

He drags his hand down his face so intensely that you're convinced the dents made by his fingers won't fade. Apparently, that's how frustrated he is with you, he's ruining his face, so you're quick to add on the only defense you can think of, "it was Sam's idea." Just like a lawyer to pass the blame.

"And he'll pay for that but right now I've got Garth on third and you're about to be my second out. Just, fuck, just hold your bat up here," he wraps his arms around you to show you how to position your body. And it must be innocent enough to everyone else because he's literally doing it in front of his entire family but to you? He might as well have pressed his dick in your ass for the heat that's rising up your chest. You stop listening for all of the seconds that he's holding you, fighting the instinct to blush and smile dopily. "…and just stay there ok. If my idiot brother pitches right, you might have a shot of making contact. I don't even need you to hit it, just make sure the ball touches the bat."

Your body shivers when he takes his arms away. You're not worried about what you missed or striking out or dying by a curveball to the face, not anymore. His arms are gone, and you want them back.

He takes two steps away and then one step back, "you do know what to do if you hit it right?"

You roll your eyes, "run, obviously."

His face looks relieved for all of a second, "run where?"

"Go away, Dean."

You're not that much of an idiot, you have seen seven other people, including Dean, run away from home, the only one who hadn't made it was Charlie. Dean had told her it was just bad luck and, at the time, you'd nodded like you understood and agreed.

Sam pitches and you do everything to brace yourself. Somehow the ball connects with your bat and bounces out in front of you. Suddenly there's scrambling and despite your earlier snark, it takes several voices shouting, "RUN!" for you to drop the bat and move your feet.

Running is a pretty non-specific command when adrenaline is your fuel. You discover that as your foot pounds on first and carries on going. You should have stopped at first. You'd have been safe there. But they'd told you to run and that was something your feet knew how to do, albeit not in a straight line.

They'd only just got the ball to first as your foot went over it, but you had no chance of making it to second. Your arms kind of flail while you run as if Freddy Krueger is hot on your heels. There's this eerie moment where everything slows down and your head sweeps skyward in time to see a white blur soar through the air above you. Someone you'd been introduced to as Gabe is on second, glove in the air and a lazy smile gracing his face as he catches the ball with a casual ease.

You stop in a cloud of kicked up dirt and grass twenty feet from second base, defeated. Even knowing that the likely scenario was you getting an out you're still disappointed. False hope had bubbled up inside you the second the bat had fallen to the dirt. It had gone to your head is all.

Sam knows how competitive you can be, he shouldn't taunt you as you stomp back to your team. He does though.

"That's a real shame, honey. Maybe next inning?"

You pause only to stare at him slack-jawed, "how many innings are we playing?"

He smiles, happy to report the news, "all nine."

"You're going to pay for this."

His snickers follow you as you make it back to your team. Claire rolls her eyes like you've given all women a bad name. To be fair she's not wrong. Garth made it home at least, silver linings and all that. Dean plasters a clearly fake smile on his face, "maybe next inning?"

You plop down on the bench next to him, your whole upper body moves with the sigh you let out, "yeah, jolly green said that."

"You just need to practice."

Now you cross your arms over your chest, one leg over the other, "you know I figured out why guys think about baseball when they're trying not to cream their pants. This game sucks."

Unlike his smile at your out, the laugh that comes out of him is very, very real.

* * *

It's the ninth inning and you're on first base. You're told it's the best place to put those with limited skill. Normally you'd have taken that comment personally except you'd begged to be put somewhere that you couldn't do any more damage. In nine turns at bat, you've been out eight times. The one time you make it around the plates is pure luck. You'd made it to first and then someone hit a home run. You hadn't believed your luck and you'd jogged around the bases with utter disbelief painted on your features. Charlie had hugged you when you'd got back, and Dean had nodded like he'd personally ensured your victory.

The problem is the score. Michael is very good, you can see why Dean normally nabbed him. And every time he's scored a run, he's looked apologetically at Dean, you wouldn't have been surprised if they ran into each other's arms at the end of this. Neither of them happy at being split up.

Sam's team needs one more run to win. You'd appreciate the drama of it all if you weren't so nervous. You've missed the ball a few times, obviously, and ended up fumbling for it and wasting time. Basically, every time anything happens hear first base all eyes are on you to see exactly how you'll mess it up.

Sam is up to bat himself and you're sure long legs would love to score the winning run for his team. You, however, would love to take him down. You pound your curled fist into your mitt while you wait for the pitch.

He swings and misses the first pitch and as Claire, who's on shortstop, throws the ball back Sam winks at you.

There's no time to comprehend that he has a plan involving you because it happens too quickly. The ball hurtles towards him and he hits it but barely. Had it not been for the wink you might have thought it accidental, but you know he planned this.

The ball bounces a few times in your direction, making it three-quarters of the way to you, so now it's a race. You're running for the ball and Sam is running for your base. Somehow everyone is suddenly screaming. Your hand wraps around the ball and then a chorus of "NO!" erupts. Sam has made it around you just as you stand up so you're chasing after him which is never going to happen for you. He's halfway to second when your foot touches first again so you pull your arm back to throw.

That's when it gets a little ridiculous.

You think only an idiot would throw it to second when he's halfway there, so you'll throw it to third right? It makes sense in your head anyway. You must be wrong because Charlie, on second, is shouting for you to throw it to her but as your arm springs forward and you let go of the ball, your body adjusts to aim at third base.

Here's why you're an idiot. Firstly, and probably most obviously, Charlie could have got Sam out. He'd have been their third out. Secondly, in the heat of the moment, you have severely overestimated your ability to throw a ball for a long distance. Instead of it reaching third, it soars majestically for all of a few seconds, making you think it'll reach third, before it descends and hits Dean, the pitcher, in the head.

At this point, you couldn't make this shit up.

Obviously, your lack of ability means it wasn't a particularly powerful throw so you haven't hurt him or anything, but it does give Sam a chance to start for third base since Dean is confused as to why you threw the ball at his head. It's just enough seconds of confusion before Dean grabs the ball and throws it himself, reaching third this time, that Sam makes it past third and keeps running.

It's one of those movie moments with the guy sliding into home to the roars of his team. They don't hoist Sam up or anything but as soon as John shouts, "SAFE!" they are all there. Surrounding Sam and patting him on the shoulder.

The movies hardly ever show the anguish of the losing team but you see it. All of your team slump a little and Dean? Dean looks like he just found out Santa isn't real. Sam said everyone was competitive but you didn't realize it was to this extent.

You all kind of shuffle towards the pitcher's mound where Dean makes a half-hearted attempt to deliver commiseration speech about everyone trying hard and playing well. Then he gets annoyed and says, "screw that, those dicks cheated probably. We should have won." You'd laugh if this wasn't entirely your fault.

"I'm sorry Dean." You wait until everyone is walking back towards the food and drink.

"Don't be stupid it wasn't your fault."

You cock your head at him, "really?"

"Ok, it was a little your fault. But you know who I blame?" He leans in like he's going to whisper the meaning of life when the person he blames comes running up to you.

Sam wraps an arm around you both, "how're my two favorite losers?"

"Him, I blame him," Dean smirks, tossing his head in Sam's direction but otherwise ignoring him completely.

"Yeah, I blame him too." Sam laughs despite being ignored. "What does this blockhead even win?"

Dean shakes his head, utterly saddened by life, "get this. He gets to pick where we eat tonight."

* * *

The restaurant is soft and dimly lit. It's homely but still nice enough that you don't feel out of place having dressed up a little. After all, you are still playing the part of Sam's girlfriend, you would want to impress them right? Especially after your performance earlier that day on the field.

John orders a beer and the Mary orders a bottle of wine. They both look at you next. The anticipation of the table is weighty so you duck your head, a small coy smile, as you order a beer too, "I've never been a big fan of wine." Slipping past your lips to answer a question nobody uttered.

Ordering food is not dissimilar. When you come to order, spaghetti carbonara because _bacon_ , everyone seems to hold their breath until you give the waitress your order. They don't wait like that for each other and it hits you then what this dinner will be.

All about you.

Every other person at the table knows each other already. Familial knowledge runs deep. However, you are the new, shiny toy. You are the wildcard. Perhaps your choice of beverage or food is not the most telling thing about your personality but it's only the start. Tonight is when you are put under the microscope. Tomorrow there will be too many people, distractions, but tonight sat at a table with four Winchesters, they can dissect you. Well, hopefully, Sam would help you out a little here. You've forgotten substantial parts of your fake relationship story already.

"So, Y/N..." Mary begins as she's probably been planning to for hours. "Where did you grow up?"

That’s how it starts. Dean has a smirk on his face like he too knew this was coming. Sam looks apologetic but unable or unwilling, to try and stop his mother. You wonder if surrounded by men she has always got her own way like this.

"New York. My dad is a stock broker so I've always lived in the city."

She swirls the wine in her hand absently, her eyes fixed on you, entirely focused on reading you like a book. "That must have been interesting. Living in the city as a child?"

"Not really. I went to a pretty intense prep school. Kept me busy. I guess I did have some childhood experiences most people didn't. My friends and I would go to the theatre and see concerts easier than other kids I guess. But I didn't do the normal school thing so I bet I missed out on stuff too."

"Like learning to play baseball?" Dean chimes in. He’s chewing the inside of his mouth to stop himself laughing.

"It's too soon to talk about it!" You hold a hand to your head dramatically hoping they can all read your joke. Their smiles say they can. "Yeah like learning baseball. Sport was very elective and I wasn't really interested in it. My parents never really encouraged it, I think I took Latin instead."

John, who had been fairly silent while you admitted to your privilege, chimes in now. He speaks in a way that implies he'd have a shotgun in his hands if he could. "Where did you go to school Y/N?"

You find yourself answering with the equivalent fear, "Harvard for undergrad and law, graduated top of my class."

"Sam graduated top of his class from Stanford."

"I know. I think we worked it out and if I were a year older we'd have met each other in our debate teams. When we started at the firm and everyone found out we were both valedictorians they started calling us the legal eagles."

Dean snorts and Sam is quick to counter, "nobody called us that."

You're still trying to keep it light amongst the interrogation as you shrug at Sam, "that's because you wouldn't wear the matching t-shirts I got us."

John, however, is on the warpath still, he gruffs, "New York native, why Chicago?"

Instantly you're back to trying to impress John Winchester and apparently failing. Sam knows why you moved to Chicago so he throws his dad a stern warning, "Dad, stop." But you put a hand on his shoulder. Unlike baseball, this conversation you definitely had covered. Defense was your job.

"It's ok Sam. Honestly, _John_ , I did it to get away from my parents. I'm not going to pull the poor little rich girl my parents don't love me excuse, I think they do love me in their own way. They have always wanted to best for me and they expected me to come back to New York after school. But I'd spent my entire college career trying to prove to myself that I deserved to be there, not sure if I got in because I was smart enough or because my Dad is an alumni donor. If I had gone back to New York I'd probably be working with one of the family connections. Moving to Chicago was an opportunity for me to earn everything I have on my own."

John narrows his eyes across the table, not necessarily hostile but suspicious, "and what have you earned?"

"I'm one of the top criminal defense attorneys in Chicago and I'll be a partner in the next two years. I own my car, almost own my home and I have a tidy savings pot, _sir_."

There's a hardness to your voice and your fingers are tight around your beer. Sam senses your frustration at John forcing you to reduce your life to a list of achievements, not unlike your own parents and insists on your behalf, "Dad, that's enough."

Mary nods in agreement, "it would be nice if you didn't scare her away before the food gets here."

Everyone seems to share the opinion that John needs to cool it, even Dean though he doesn't say anything. He had, admittedly, been more interested in hearing more about your background even if John and his steely questions had been what got it out of you.

John is at least sated enough that he nods. It's not an apology but maybe it's a truce. Enough to get you all through dinner anyway.

"It’s ok, I don't scare that easily, a defense lawyer by definition needs to be able to stand up to the brute force of a prosecutor," Dean chokes on his beer as he takes a sip, "why don't we talk about something else though. I'm excited for tomorrow, Sam says you go all out with the fireworks?"

John is stuck between being angry at your first comment and wanting to detail his plans in answer to your question. He wisely chooses the latter under Mary's stern gaze.

He tells you that this year he has more fireworks than ever and he seems to be particularly excited about igniting so many explosives. Seeing John excited about anything is strange but humanizing. When the food arrives Sam leans over and whispers in your ear, "even for a fake girlfriend, that was impressive."

You wink at him as your lips suck up a strand of spaghetti in an utterly unladylike manner.

* * *

"The benefit of being surrounded by men, and it's why I had two sons, is that on days like this I have nothing to do but relax."

The wicked smile on Mary's face almost convinces you that it is, indeed, the only reason she had two sons. You wouldn't put it past her to have ensured she sired boys just to facilitate easy barbecues.

"It's better than just not having to do the work," you reason with a finger on your chin, "you do none of the work and enjoy all of the food."

You both laugh as you sit on the sofa with your iced teas. Dean ejected you both from the kitchen an hour ago saying that his homemade BBQ sauce, that was simmering on the stove, did not need the negative influence of two women who didn't respect his process. The yard was already off limits while Sam and John set up the fireworks down one end and generally did man things like chop wood or start fires or something.

Meanwhile, Mary had sat with you and told you more stories. Some were of Sam and some were of Sam and Dean together. Slowly you piece together a childhood of brotherly games and fights. Once she started it was difficult to stop her, not that you wanted to. She was a great storyteller and after a while, you're so engrossed that you forget about being an imposter yourself.

"Were they always thick as thieves or just when one of them was in trouble?"

It's an innocent enough question considering she's just finished a story about Sam covering for Dean when he snuck out. Or at least you thought it was an innocent question until Mary's face falls. She smiles again in a flash, quick to try and hide it, but there's clearly something she doesn't want to say too much about.  

"Oh well, you know boys, they can butt heads. And there was one time right before Sam went to college that they had a disagreement. Sam didn't… he didn't come home at all that first year…" Her eyes zone off into the distance, reliving something that creases her forehead in the same way Sam's does when he's worried. She shakes her head to clear it away, "but he was excited about college obviously. And they worked it all out eventually. They've been like best friends ever since, well, until you came along."

You have a reassuring look on your face for whatever she'd been thinking about as you were taking another sip of your drink. Then you nearly choke, "I'm sorry?"

"I know you've been friends with Sam long before you two, what would you say? Got together? Honestly, for how much he talked about you I'm surprised he hadn't brought you home before as a friend, you've clearly been very important to him for a long time."

You forget yourself for a moment and start arguing your case like Mary is just another person that has asked you both when you're finally going to get together, "we've been there for each other a long time. We just really get each other and there's no one I trust more, but I don't think of him like-" your eyes widen briefly as you finally stop yourself saying too much, "I mean up until recently I genuinely didn't think of him like that. We were just friends. It's only very recently that changed."

She doesn't seem concerned by your almost slip so you think you've got away with it. Now though Mary seems to have naturally got the conversation to a different topic she's apparently been dying to ask about.

"And what did change?"

"Oh, you know. Extra late nights working together and one night out of nowhere he kissed me." You wave a hand like your supposed love story with Sam is all so breezy and nonchalant. You know he's told his mom how he won you over already, having come up with the story. That's not what Mary Winchester wants to hear, unfortunately. She wants to hear why you love her son.

"No, no. I mean what changed for you?"

You could tell her all the reasons you love Sam as a friend but none of those are terribly exciting or romantic. Romance. That's what she's looking for. She wants to hear why Sam makes your heart beat faster when in truth he doesn't. That's harder to fake.

You're not proud of it but you suck in some air and think about the other Winchester. About the way, your body had lit up with his arms around you or how you still wondered what his lips felt like.

"I think I probably knew from the second I saw him, erm, deep down. I don't think there are really words for how I feel about him, it's something that just is. It's a connection between us that is pulling us together and the more I try and fight it, the stronger it gets."

You're interrupted by a voice clearing, "Dad wanted to talk to you, something about blankets and not having enough of them."

Mary rolls her eyes in your direction, a motion that seems to curse the fragility of men without saying anything. You turn in time to see a flash of flannel, that you knew was Dean, as he swept back to the kitchen.

So, it's like almost 100% that he heard you.

* * *

It's the start of July so it feels pretty magical when night falls with this much darkness. An inky black that hides absolutely everything. It's the perfect canvas for fireworks and it feels like it only gets this dark on this day. For America and all that good stuff.

John is at the end of the long yard with a flashlight between his teeth and a lighter in his hands while he gets ready to start. Everyone is sitting in random assortments by the house. Some people are huddled in groups on lawn chairs, and some people, like you and Sam, are sitting on a picnic blanket. There's a low hum of general conversation that makes the air buzz in anticipation. There are a few other houses in the distance that had fireworks going off but Sam assured you that theirs was always the best.

The longer it goes on the more this evening starts to feel like a relief. Lying to these strangers all weekend was one thing, but it was getting harder and harder to lie to Sam. You were running out of excuses for why you reacted to certain things or when you'd drift off into your own head and he'd ask you what you're thinking about. You used to be able to tell Sam anything including whomever you were thinking about, but after the façade that you'd both put on for the past two days, how do you then tell your best friend that you have an insane crush on his brother?

The answer is you didn't. You keep it to yourself. You reminded yourself that Dean was a good guy who wasn't going to ever be interested in his brother's ex-girlfriend, and he might not even be interested had you never pretended to be with Sam. It was a lot to risk telling Sam the truth when, actually, you just had to get through one more night, one more breakfast and then you'd be flying back to Chicago tomorrow lunchtime. You and Sam could go back to normal and you'd probably never see Dean again. Except in your dirtier dreams.  
It's easy to tell yourself the plan anyway. It's easy to remind yourself until you hear a voice that after two days you know better than your own.

"Budge up, you're hogging the whole blanket gigantor."

You want to let out an exasperated sigh at his intrusion, if only because it will be another exercise in your self-control. You don't sigh though; a sigh might send him away. The reality is the idea of watching fireworks with Dean makes your heart flutter. You let your mind wander to what it might feel like sitting with your back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around you while you and Sam both move to accommodate him.

The rearrangement leaves you sitting with Sam on one side and Dean on the other. The least ideal scenario in terms of keeping your feelings in check. It's dark enough that Sam isn't bothering with pretending, there's no arm over your shoulders or fingers intertwined with yours. Which means you have nothing to anchor you to your doting girlfriend role. Nothing tethers you to Sam so, in the darkness, your mind continues to wander to Dean.

Your eyes dart to him to take in the hazy shape of him that you can make out without much light. The way his bowed legs sprawl out in front of him as he leans back and rests on his elbows. There's just enough space for you to sit between his thighs in his current position. And there's a beer in his left hand so every time he takes a sip his entire body leans onto his right elbow and you're sitting on his right. Everytime he leans in your direction he sends this wave of heat and scent, hot and musky, in your direction. He's giddying.

The first firework goes off. It shoots into the air with a familiar whizzing noise, a beat of silence as it settles high above everyone and then an explosion. A crackle that turns into sparks shooting through the night. Red, white and blue of course. From somewhere further away John shouts, "happy fourth of July!" before he returns to his task. The next few explosions coming in quicker succession now, lighting up the yard with colorful sparks that look like stars falling from heaven.

Dean holds up his bear in Sam's direction, "happy fourth Sammy."

Sam smiles that same hero worship smile he'd worn on the plane when talking about Dean as he clinks his beer to Dean's, "happy fourth dude."

Then Dean looks at you in the middle of their brotherly moment, "happy fourth sweetheart."

You know by now that sweetheart is a name he offers out to most of the people he meets but it's softer than when you'd heard him say it to the waitress last night. It's as calm and silky as the night sky above you, while you allow yourself to look into his eyes, watching the explosion of the fireworks reflect in them. For a second you can pretend that he's yours. Just for this second the crinkles at the corner of his eyes and the curl of his plump lips, it's all for you.

You smile softly caught in your imagination. It's probably the most honest moment you've felt the entire weekend. But you went into it understanding the fleeting nature of pretending to have Dean. You knew you were only torturing yourself, but it was worth it.

"Happy fourth of July Dean." You raise your brown bottle to his as Sam had done, the sound of glass on glass punctuates the moment with a full stop.

After a beat more you both turn back to the fireworks. The sky is starting to look smoky now and each new rocket that's sent up has to cut through the haze to explode.

"I know you guys might be a little too old for these but…" Mary appears from somewhere holding up sparklers and Dean's face lights up brighter than any of the explosions you've seen so far.

She gives him a handful which he passes to you and Sam while getting his lighter out of his pocket. After the initial excitement dies from his face it all becomes slightly lazy. He lights one for each of you and you all lay back drawing slow patterns with the handheld fireworks.

Sam's patterns are sharp, zigzags and shapes with angled corners. Dean draws circles and swirls. You feel trapped between them with the light in your hands, though neither of them knows exactly how trapped you are. Unimaginatively you write your name a few times. In cursive and then block capitals and then once with extra flourishes before the crackling spark in your hand dies out.

"Another?" Dean offers you both, Sam takes one with a boyish grin.

"You know, I'm feeling a bit of a chill. I'm going to go sit inside, see if I can't warm up a bit. You guys stay, do the brother thing."

It's barely cold but they both let you go without protest, probably thankful for a chance to actually do the brother thing you suggested. You know they haven't seen each other in months and you've been glued to Sam since the second you got here.

The kitchen is quiet with everyone outside watching fireworks still and you can see why. The explosions lose a lot of their majesty viewed through glass with the noises dulled. Although not cold outside it is noticeably warm inside. You rest your elbows on the counter as you half-heartedly watch the sky outside and then catch a glimpse of Sam and Dean nudging each other and laughing about something. Both of them seem at more ease with you gone and watching them, you can't wait to leave tomorrow. You want your best friend back, the one you could tell anything to, and you want to go back to a world where you don't have to pretend your feelings don’t exist.

* * *

When you get home you're surely going to collapse with no comprehension for how you got through this weekend. You never expected to be leaving with such a note of sadness, the loss of something that you never really had. In all the worst-case scenarios of agreeing to be Sam's fake girlfriend the most terrible thing you'd imagined was getting found out and ruining a perfectly good family weekend.

You'd known that you and Sam had no risk of falling for each other. You've seen the tv shows and read the trope-y romance novels, how pretending to love each other turns into the real thing. However, this is real life. You and Sam are best friends but that's all you'll ever be, that's all either of you ever want to be.

It's just you'd not counted on Dean. In all honesty, you'd never counted on anyone even like Dean, even outside of this weekend. Attraction was usually just that, attraction. But whatever you felt for Dean has turned into something else. It's could just be intensified by not being able to have him. Or it could be a fantasy written in your head.

Somehow you know it's not, it's real. Dean sets your mind at rest. Like all other thoughts are a restless sea and he is calm shores. And yet he's also heat. He's a burning fire inside your lungs as if he's stolen your breath without touching you.

And now you're standing here next to him. Both of you lean against the side of the Impala, his baby, waiting for Sam. A client called, as clients often think they have to right to do even when the office is closed. They must figure they're paying you enough to be on call, which if it's important sure, but so often it's mundane nothingness. But as lawyers, it's the life you've both elected for, so you understand. Dean doesn't seem quite as forgiving. His face is clenched in a frown, a pout on his lips. You try to remember that. He pouts when he's upset about something.

"He won't be long probably. Sam has a way of calming down the crazy clients."

Dean turns to look at you like he forgot you were there. His forehead somehow creases even more in absolute confusion at what you said making you wonder if you misread his annoyance at waiting for Sam.

"I wasn't worried about- it's fine. Whatever." The displeasure on his face finally melts away while he's looking at you.

You know this will be your last moment alone with Dean because when Sam comes out of the house all three of you will drive to the airport and have your shared goodbyes. He'll be saying goodbye to Sam's girlfriend. But there's something persistent sitting just behind your teeth waiting to come out, a goodbye as just you.

"I've had a lot of fun this weekend," not a complete lie, "and I'm sorry about the game."

His face seems to break for the grin that appears, accompanied by what you now know to be a Dean Winchester signature wink, "it just means I'm the underdog next year, everyone loves the underdog."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you picked me. I never thought I'd enjoy it… but I kind of did. A tiny bit anyway."

He shrugs like it was nothing even though it was more than he knows. Neither of you looks away and you start wondering if either of you ever will.

"Dean, since I'm not going to see you again-"  

He cuts you off faster than you expect, almost panicked, "why not? You and Sammy…"

The smile on your face is gentle and calm as you hold up a hand to silence him. You might be the only one this weekend that knows the truth. Not even Sam knows how you feel about Dean. In this moment it's hard keeping the honesty hidden amongst all the lies. The lawyer inside you argues that if you don't say the words then you've not broken your promise. But it's not the words you're concerned about. It's not about the big reveal.

It's about being selfish. It's about not wanting to go back to Chicago and always wonder what Dean's lips taste like. It's about how small the gap is between your bodies and not knowing when the space got that tight.

"Just trust me. We're… I just know we won't see each other again and since this is it I was just wondering?"

"Yeah?" He has to know what you're thinking. He has to know by the way he drags his tongue over his full bottom lip and leans down. Just enough that you have all the opening you need. He's close enough that you can feel the heat that radiates from his expansive chest, even through the layers of cotton and flannel.

You can't not know. You can't never know. You just need to pretend for one minute that you're allowed him.

It's easy once you decide, like most things. Once you set your mind to it you do it without any hesitation in your physical movements. You lean up and press your lips to his, still expecting him to pull away and remind you that you're his brothers' girl.

He doesn't, and you've never been more grateful for anything in your life. His lips move against yours perfectly, like you've both done this together a thousand times. You memorize every nanosecond of kissing Dean. The way his chapped lips press against yours, the way he tastes like the coffee and waffles you'd both eaten for breakfast, the weight of his hand as it settles on your waist. Barely there, a chaste reminder in the bright daylight that he's got you.  

"What the hell?!"

You both pull back eyes wide, lips softly bruised. Reality crashes down on you at the sight of Sam, still holding his phone in his hand having just hung up. You've known him years now and yet you've never seen the kind of hurt and anger that swims in his eyes. His empty hand is balled into a fist and even from a distance, you can tell that every muscle in his body is tight.

You expect the brunt of it, but he looks at Dean as he repeats himself, "what the hell?!"

Sam starts taking steps towards you both, or just Dean, but you step forward faster. You press two hands onto his chest, forgetting what this must look like to Dean, and try to use every ounce of strength you have to stop Sam coming any closer.

"She's my girlfriend dude. MY girlfriend. How could you do this to me _again_?"

There's a flash of shock on your face for the hurt in Sam. The way he calls you his and the emphasis on 'again'. Your voice is a strained whisper, hushed yet forceful and only for Sam to hear, "Sam calm down. We're not really together. It's ok, just take a deep breath and…"

"He doesn't know that!" Sam shouts in his brother's direction even if he's answering you.

"Sam look at me." Your tone leaves no room for argument and he does. It seems to take everything he has to give but his eyes leave Dean and meet yours.  There's so much pain in his every line on his face you almost can't say it, but you can't let Dean take the fall for this. "It was me. I kissed him. I'm so sorry."

He steps back from you like you're contagious. His expression twists into something more akin to disgust than the betrayal he'd been wearing for Dean, and his mouth hangs open in disbelief.

You try to close the gap again, "Sam I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

There's no arguing out of this, there's no technicality to defend yourself with. You might not be his girlfriend, but you are his best friend. You'd made a commitment, for this weekend at least. If what you'd done hadn't been wrong, then you wouldn't be fighting the tears that are threatening to blur your vision.

"You-  you and him?"

Until now Dean had stayed back but you feel him, of course, you do, taking cautious steps to stand next to you, "Sammy, it was an accident ok? I know she's your girl."

Jesus the big, dumb idiot would be the death of you.

You wave a hand at Dean to shut him up without turning to look at him. You're almost at Sam again, your hands almost wrapped around one of his, "please. Let's just go to the airport and we can talk about this on the way home."

Sam sucks in this breath that stills him and then he exhales through his nose, making his nostrils flare but his shoulders fall an inch. He looks at Dean as he grinds out, "we're getting a cab."

"Don't be stupid, the bags are in the car and it'll cost-" Dean starts.

"It's fine Dean. I'll pay whatever it costs, can you please just call us a cab?" You beg him with the briefest of pleading looks.

It's the last look you'll get at Dean, knowing there's no way you can say goodbye now.

* * *

Sam doesn't look at you or say a word the entire cab ride even for all the pleading looks you send his way. He gets out the second the car stops at the drop off point outside the airport, getting his bag and walking off. You pay a generous tip to the driver for enduring the excruciating atmosphere for a whole hour before you get out and trail behind him with your case.

He has the tickets so you kind of can't get home without him, you're fairly sure he'd have ditched you by now if he could have. As you catch up to him you're both called to check in and he makes no attempt to be subtle as he asks the woman at the desk bluntly if there's any way he can change his assigned seat. She spares you a sympathetic glance before she tells a stoic Sam that unfortunately the flight is fully booked.

You go straight to the gate because you were already delayed with Sam's phone call and then the fallout, plus waiting for the cab, and the flight has just started boarding when you arrive. You don't attempt anything until you're both strapped in and he has no way out.

"Sam…"

"Save it." He mutters with, you notice, his eyes trained on the emergency exit.

You'd normally touch him now, maybe a reassuring hand on his arm or your head on his shoulder. Then again normally doesn't cut it. Normally you're not the one that's put him in this mood. Normally you haven't kissed his brother in front of him.

Normally he's never gone this long being mad at you.

"Please just talk to me." You beg with your own attempt at his patented puppy dog eyes. You suspect they're not quite as good but you're making an effort at least.

He sighs, crosses his arms and then uncrosses them. You see the cogs in his head turning, weighing his options, talk now or no doubt be badgered to death for the entire flight. He knows how annoying you can be.

"I'm not an idiot. I know we're not- I mean we were never a real thing. I get it."

You open your mouth to apologize again and tell him that's not the point and you still shouldn't have done it but, for once, you wisely clamp your lips shut without a word. He needs to get whatever it is off of his chest.

"We were teenagers ok. Stupid kids really and she was my prom date, on prom night. And I caught Dean… well, you get the idea. I mean it was like, a decade ago. It's ancient history. But yeah, I get that you're not really my girlfriend but after pretending this weekend and then seeing you together, it just, it brought up a lot of stuff."

You nod, daring to reach out for his hand like you might have done any other day and trying not to be heartbroken when he pulls his away before you can touch him.

"It's going to take some time. I don't know how long, I just need some time."

As much as it hurts you cannot deny him, you have never been able to deny him. It’s how you got into this mess in the first place. "Sure. I- I get it. I can't exactly go anywhere for the next hour and a half but I'll, you know, put my headphones on and we can pretend we don't know each other?"

He follows your lead and you both spend the flight worlds apart from each other. When you land he doesn't say anything, but he gets your bag down from the overhead. Progress at least. You follow him until he starts heading to the parking garage.

"Sam?"

He still tenses as you say his name, which feels like a punch to the gut.

"I'm going to get a cab home. I know you need some space and I don't want to force myself on you more than I already have."

His face softens into quiet exhaustion, "Y/N. Don't be dumb. I made you pay for the cab in Kansas. Just let me drive you home."

For the second time that day you blink away tears that you intend to save for later, "it's fine. I'm a hotshot lawyer, I've got money to burn." You're not sure if you actually see the corner of his lips twitch. "Anyway, I live further away, just go home, Sam. I'll see you tomorrow?"

There's too much hope in your voice. It gives away how desperate you are to go into the office tomorrow and everything to be as you left it on Friday. Sam's half-hearted, "sure," tells you that it won't be like Friday at all.

You love your job, you always have. You think it stems from being stubborn and having the joy of arguing with men who think they're smarter than you. But right now, watching Sam walk away, you've never dreaded going back to work more.

* * *

"Hi Sam, how are you?..."

"Hey, Sammy. Want to get lunch today?"

"Sam. Maybe we should talk about our feelings and then braid each other's hair?"

You've read out loud and then deleted the start to at least twenty emails so far because you are a coward. It's been three days of nothingness and it's now the end of the week. It's Friday and you can't stand the thought of spending an entire weekend worried about this, about him.

You've eaten alone in your office every day so far, unable to go down the two floors to his office.

Now you're trying to write an email except everything that comes out sounds stupid, impersonal, and wrong. You know why. It's because he is your freaking best friend and you need to stop being a baby and go talk to him. Even if he tells you he never wants to speak to you again. At least you'll know. At least you wouldn't be taking the cowards way out with a dumb email.

Your phone rings twice and both calls are mindlessly boring but incredibly welcome distractions. When you finally put the phone down it's been half an hour and the words still on your screen taunt you into action. You'd just go down there and knock on the door and say hello.

You get so far as the knocking on the door part, your knuckles rap loudly and purposefully under his name. It's the 'hello' part where you fumble because as you open your mouth he speaks, "come in."

This choked sob comes out of you. Obviously, he doesn't know it's you yet, but his voice is so normal that this could be any regular day for the two of you. Even if it's not. Even if when he looks up from his paperwork as you enter and keeps an entirely straight face.

"Y/N."

"Hey, Sammy." You're not sure what makes you decide to test the waters with the nickname you stole from his brother, the one that you kissed, but it slips out anyway. He doesn't immediately shut you down, so you take that as a sign to continue.

"How have you been? I was hoping we could talk?"

He nods and as faint as it is there's definitely a smile too, "seems like a good idea."

You sit down opposite him and settle into the seat that should be rightly yours for the hours you've sat in it before. "I'll start then?"

He nods, faintly bemused.

"I know I've said it to the point where it's losing all meaning, but I really am sorry. And I wish I had some excuse but honestly? I didn't plan it. Dean just kind of makes me feel something I didn't really know existed. And I've got no idea if he… it's doesn't matter. I'll never see him again, but I just needed you to know why. I didn't throw this," you motion a hand between you both, "away because he's hot or something. Don't get me wrong, your brother is hot, but it was, I thought it was, more than that. The why isn't really so important anymore though. I shouldn't have done it. I was there with you, fake relationship or not, and you're my best friend Sam. I can't lose you. I will do anything not to lose you."

You've looked away in some of your tangents, unable to look at Sam while you tell him his brother is hot, although your eyes bore into him as you finish. Willing him to forgive you. Begging him to not take his friendship away. And for a minute, as he gets out of his chair, you're convinced this is it. He's going to use his superhuman giant powers to lift your chair off the floor and empty you into the hallway without a word.

You're obviously an idiot. A lot of things might have happened, but this is still Sam, your Sam.

He lifts you up by the shoulders until you're standing, all the better for him to wrap his arms around you and for you to bury your face in his chest.

He mutters into your hair, "you're such a goddamn idiot."

And you are. You're an idiot for crying into his shirt and you're an idiot for holding him like you're still scared he's going to run away.

"You don't hate me?"

It's an odd moment of tenderness as he pulls back and wipes a stray tear from your cheek with this thumb, "no dummy. I don't hate you. I may have, _slightly_ , overreacted and I'm sorry about that. You were only there because I was an idiot and I shouldn't have acted like that."

You laugh through your tears, "it's not your fault. You and Dean have a history and…"

"Yeah ten years ago. I mean, even Dean didn't deserve that. He's not like that anymore."

You look up at him glowing with a smile you haven't worn in days, "wanna get some lunch?

Sam looks down at you with a smile that reassures you that everything will be ok, "best offer I've had all day."

* * *

Two weeks later and your life is pretty much back to normal.

Sam has been on two dates with Eileen and you've found the quickest way to make him blush like a twelve-year-old girl is to say her name. Alternatively asking him if he kissed her yet also does the trick. Basically, he's in looooooove and you are having a considerable amount of fun teasing him about it.

He also told his mom two days ago about the breakup. Apparently, she did not take the news well. You figure she'll be fine once Sam proposes to Eileen, which yes, you're getting ahead of yourself but also, it's totally going to happen. At least then Sam, as per your aforementioned agreement, has to tell her it was all fake because there's no way in hell you're missing out on donning a power suit to be one of his groomsmen. Legal eagles for life and all that.

In fact, if it wasn't for the occasional pang in your chest when you saw a pie in the deli or a man wearing flannel, you'd say your life is almost exactly the same as it was. No harm, no foul, right?

The most important thing was that you and Sam were back to normal. Neither of you mentioned that last day in Kansas and you got along just fine without it. You were back to lunches and legalese, the first weekend of July was a blip on an otherwise clear radar.

You don't suspect anything when he invites you out for dinner. It's been a while since you had dinner, just the two of you, and you're excited. Dinners are so much more personal than lunches. At lunch one of you ends up talking about work at some point but dumb dinners were what your friendship was built on.

There's a knock at your door and since it's Sam you answer with one shoe on and bobby pin between your teeth.

"You're early," you accuse him while pinning your hair.

"Nice to see you too. You look great by the way." He closes the door behind him but unusually lingers in the entryway.

"When you saw me two hours ago I'd just finished arguing with Judge Shurley, again, figured I should make some effort." Sam hasn't made much effort but he's a guy, he can wear his suit from the office and still look like he's some shade of dressed up. That's the excuse in your head to explain his appearance anyway.

With the other shoe acquired and slipped on you strut back into the room for a final inspection, "good enough you Sammy or should we give up and order in?"

A smile tugs at the corner of Sam's lips that you can't read. He nods through it, his head bouncing up and down like a bobblehead, "perfect" slips out before he leads you out of your house and into his car.

He doesn't turn the key in the ignition though, he just sits there waiting like you're the one who has something to say.

"Sam? You know how I get when I'm hungry." You remind him though he probably doesn't need reminding.

He nods, "yeah I know, really I should have seen it before. The two of you."

You cock your head in an attempt to catch his line of vision but he's dead set on staring ahead into the darkness for another minute.

"Something about what you said has been bugging me." He almost whispers.

"Oh, are we playing the make no sense game? Your hair isn't even that long. Look, I'm winning."

He sighs and shakes his head, making his hair bounce to prove you wrong. It's a head shake he uses exclusively when you're being annoying or sarcastic, always with the ghost of a smile. "How long have we known each other Y/N?"

A classic question when breaking up with someone, not one you'd heard when breaking up with a friend but still, "I don't mark off the days, but I guess like six, seven years?"

"We know each other, well right? I mean, you know pretty much everything there is to know about me." He's looking at his hands now like the answers are there.

You're getting frustrated with how weird he's being, "yes and you pretty much know all there is to know about me too. Who'd have thought it, two best friends knowing everything about each other? Alert the media." It's not often you actually call each other best friends out loud, at your age the phrase seems childish. But neither of you would deny that's what you are.

He frowns at you, which requires him to actually look at you, though it doesn't help you figure him out. "Look I'm just- I'm just establishing that I know you better than anyone."

"We're off the clock Sammy stop lawyering me and get to the point."

Another sigh. Deeper and more resigned. Clearly whatever he's decided to do there's no turning back but you're not making it any easier.

"Dean is in town. He's visiting for a few days. I didn't lie about dinner but I kind of figured maybe you two would want to go together. If you want, I'll call him up and he'll meet you there. I'll drop you off for a date," he swallows thickly like the word is bitter, "with my brother and say nothing more of it. Or say the word and we hit the town, as planned."

Sam rushed through his offer so quickly that you're half convinced he didn't say it. When your brain does catch up you stutter over your words as much as your brain is stuttering over its options. "What makes you think I… I mean I was looking forward to… Why are you…?"

Sam must see something on your face that you can't control, be it a blush or a smile or both because he seems relieved at your reaction. "You don't even realize what your face looks like when you talk about him do you? I don't know how I missed it back in Kansas because you're like a kid with a crush," you gasp at the accusation and he raises an eyebrow at you, daring you to challenge him, "I'm just saying don't not date him because of me."

You feel your lips part in shock, "does he know that we were?"

"Faking? Yeah. He's the only one that knows. I had to tell him, first he spent a week moping every time I called and then when I told we broke up he got mad. Started blaming himself, told me not to throw away someone _so_ great because of one little mistake. Once I'd had enough of listening to him tell me how amazing you are I had to put him out of his misery."

"I can't believe you kept him in the dark that long!" You slap his arm in an attempt to be playful, but your cheeks are burning hot at the idea of Dean talking about you like Sam describes, it turns into a question you hadn't dared ask yourself. "He likes me too, huh?"

"Don't make me answer that, it's gross. He's my brother and you're my Y/N. It's still pretty weird. But this is the first and last time I'm ever going to be your matchmaker, so what's it going to be Y/N/N?"

You'd kissed Dean that day you left Kansas and justified your actions as a mad woman who would never see the nice, handsome man again. And now here he was, on a proverbial silver platter.

"I'll only go out with him as long as you don't go home and cry into a pint of ice cream because I didn't pick you."

"I think I can promise you that. I only have frozen yogurt at home anyway."

You crease your face in disgust, "and that right there is why you and I would never have worked out."

* * *

"You look amazing sweetheart."

You hear him before you see him, his voice crawls over your skin like a sticky heat contrasted against the coolness of the evening air. How he snuck up on you is a mystery, but you spin on your heel to find yourself staring up into his big, green eyes that seem endless even in the dark. He grins at the sight of you and you beam back at him just as pleased. If you're being completely honest you were worried that things might have changed since Kansas. Maybe he was just forbidden fruit. Maybe one of you would get here and realize the moment had passed.

You needn't have worried. You can taste your heart in your throat for how much you want him and how happy you are to see him again. If anything, knowing you can have him, right now on the sidewalk if you wanted, only intensifies the need that boils under your skin. Like everything in Kansas had been dampened but only because you chose to dampen it.

Sam had been right about one thing, you had never been this way around anyone else. Dean makes your stomach sink with nerves at the same time as it's filled with butterflies from him even looking at you.

"Not having second thoughts, already are we?" He asks as he holds the door open for you and remember that you've not said anything since you first locked eyes with him.

You press a hand to your chest, "not when you're being such a gentleman."

He's almost sheepish as he smiles back, "my brother told me I that I'd answer to him if I wasn't."

You look him up and down appraisingly as you step through the door of the barbeque restaurant Sam has arranged for you to meet at, because he has _such_ a sense of humor, "I think you can take him."

When you sit down at the table the atmosphere is heavy between you. Both of you waiting for the other to say something and distracting yourself with the menu when you can't bring yourselves to break the silence.

The waitress arrives and you both start ordering at the same time, laughing and insisting the other goes, then laughing again. Finally, you jinx each other and that's the last straw.

"God, I'm really a teenager with a crush aren't I?" You hark back to Sam's apprasial.

His lip curls, "oh, you have a crush on me?"

"Don't get smart with me buddy. I kissed you while you still thought I was dating your brother, what else did you think was going on?"

Dean shrugs and laughs in one fluid movement, "I'm pretty irresistible."

You can't argue that with him. It's so true and you're such a sucker for him and his dumb, handsome face that you just tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear modestly. In the fastest service ever received your drinks arrive which at least gives you something to do with your hands.

"This is weird though." You admit looking into the glass in front of you.

He juts out his bottom lip, considering your words. "It could be weird, or we could pretend that weekend never happened."

The mere mention of the word 'pretend' makes you shudder. "I don't want to forget all of it. There were some great parts."

He leans forward on the table, "Oh yeah, like what?"

"Well, your mom showed me some super adorable baby pictures of you while she was trying to embarrass Sam."

It's not the answer he was expecting but he doesn't even flinch. He's smooth as silk as he rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, looking at you like you're his next meal, not the steak he just ordered. "you're breaking my heart saying that was the only memorable part because I seem to remember this baseball outfit..."

"It's good that I'm finding out this early on that you're a super perv."

You both laugh except this time you can enjoy it. The crinkles around his eyes and the carefree sound to it. This is the liberation you've been looking for since Kansas. Repairing your relationship with Sam was one thing but being able to feel of the emotions you have around Dean was a puzzle piece you didn't know you were missing.

"I'll hold my hands up to it. I've had dreams of you in just my jersey."

There's something promising in the way you answer, "I think I can make that a reality."


End file.
